Waiting for the Fire
by muchmadness
Summary: So ... DL ... and there's a bomb. It'll get explained. Might be two parts or more.
1. Chapter 1

_This is a story pretending the recent drama is behind them. i.e. done with the affair, over it, the end._

_I don't own any of the characters._

* * *

When they knew the bomb was going to go off, they started to run. It was only logical. Nearly two hours of standing in front of a man with dynamite strapped to his chest and a little button in his right hand, well, that tends to focus one's thoughts.

Danny pushed Lindsay ahead of him, his hands roughly on her back. He wasn't going as fast as he could. That was what he hated. But he couldn't help it, because the bomb was behind them and the exit in front of them, and he was the only one with a bulletproof vest, not that that mattered so much. And she was pregnant. That worried him most of all. It was an acidic thought that ate away whatever was in the center of his stomach, burning and bubbling because he might lose someone he'd never met. Even if that person was four and a half months old, it still tore him up. He didn't understand why it meant so much to him, that little bundle of cells in his girlfriend's stomach, but things were about to explode and it seemed to be all he could think about.

Except for her. He thought about her. He watched her hair swish back and forth as she raced as fast as she could. He knew that her foot must've been bothering her from that fall only a couple of hours earlier. He debated lifting her and running instead of following her out. When Lindsay _wasn't _a little hurt and when she _wasn't _pregnant, she could outrun him any day of the week. But today, _today, _when it really mattered, she was both of those things and he wasn't sure what he could do.

They made it to the doors at the end of the hallway with a slam, pushing on the bars that should have opened them, but all they heard was the rustling of chains from the outside.

"Danny, they're locked, Danny, we're locked in this _stupid _school –"

He made a quick decision and wondered if it would cost them their lives. He knew they had only two and a half more minutes before the bomb went off, because he was still counting in his head from before.

He grabbed her hand and dragged her into a room off the hallway. He scanned the room for the best location for cover, but found none. He saw the barred window and thanked the higher powers. He smashed it open with his fist to let air escape and enter the room. _The oxygen will either feed the fire or keep us alive, _a voice told him. His decisions were coming one after the other, rapid and bumbling. He was scanning his brain for anything that would help them.

"Get on the floor," he yelled to her, running and skidding to where she lay. One minute and four seconds. He straddled her waist as he sat up. They were pressed to the side of the wall, near a corner. He fumbled with his vest, ripping open the Velcro with a sticky, too-loud sound. He leaned down again, adjusting his body to be completely on top of her.

She shivered against the warmth of him, fully aware that finding heat would not be a problem in a matter of seconds. She knew that the fire would rip through the high school like, well, wildfire, and that it could very well burn them alive.

"Let me know if I'm crushing the baby," he whispered to her. He didn't know why he kept his voice quiet. Perhaps he was aware that, in just a little while, their ears would be throbbing and shaking. He covered her quickly, running a checklist from her feet to the crown of her head, covering what he could and tucking her underneath him. He had to be a blanket. He had to be an iron wall.

"Why did you take off the vest? Put it back on!" she shrieked. She knew it wouldn't do much if the fire came for them, but it was all she could think of, their paper reinforcement. They were far away from the hallway, pressed right up against the far wall. The fire might skip over the room entirely, or burn its way right to them. The ground was concrete, a known insulator, but she couldn't help but imagine a wall of flames heading for them.

"Shh, shh, it's OK," he whispered. He covered their heads with the vest. It was a stupid move, really. It wouldn't have done much, and they both knew that. But it felt nice. Danny had made a little house for them. Lindsay was reminded of making forts with her siblings, just sheets and stacks of books that provided thin cover from their living room. But it made her feel safe. It did then, with Danny covering her so thoroughly that she felt no air on her body, only Danny.

Her mind drifted to her stomach, to the baby. Why hadn't she stayed at home? Why hadn't she stopped the man with the bomb? She could've shot him; she had the chance. But he was only 16. She couldn't kill sixteen year olds.

"It's not the best position, but you can't lean over so well with the kid, so I thought –"

"It's good," she said softly, "it's better." And it was. The baby was sandwiched between them, pressed up against his father's stomach, hugged by his mother's arm.

Danny kissed her gently, counting down. Ten, nine, eight. He circled her head with his left arm. Six, five, four. She pulled the vest down further with her right hand. One.

The building shook heavily, things falling and things shaking. They saw the blast of the fire before they heard it roaring, and Lindsay's first thought was not a thought but a number – 3 times 10 to the eighth, the speed of light. Faster than sound. But they did hear the sound. It was a roar, after the blast, once their eyes were squeezed shut and their hands had found each other and were twined tightly.

The fire shot its way to the exit door, sizzling and crackling and setting things alight. The heat was overwhelming, but Danny and Lindsay could only press closer against each other, shutting out the world with their bodies.

And then the roar was over, and there was only creaking and sizzling, and banging and breaking.

Danny took a chance and opened his eyes, blinking in reflex to the ash falling. He chanced a look at the window and found that the bars had been ripped off. He looked around him quickly, and assessed the damage.

There were minor bits of cardboard and paper alight near the entrance to the hallway, but nothing particularly dangerous. The roof had caved partially, in the center. Probably from the blast.

Danny nudged Lindsay, shaking her until her eyes opened. He ripped two pieces of cloth from his undershirt and handed one to her, motioning that she copy him and cover her mouth with it. Then they crept. He felt like they were hiding from the fire, sneaking out unnoticed from the wiggling and crackling flames around them.

He crouched over Lindsay as she wiggled to the window. He was unsure about the ceiling, and whether or not it would cave in more. He kept above her just in case.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of squirming along the bottom of the floor, they reached the window. Danny twined his fingers to make a footstep for her, and she stepped and pulled her way up to the window. He used his shoulders to push her from the back. She raised her hands down to help him, but he shook his head and motioned for her to move. Years of morning pull-ups had made it easy for him to hoist himself up using the ledge.

The coughing hit them when they were racing from the burning building, listening to the chorus of sirens and wails from both sides of the street.

"Sit," he choked, and pushed her down to rest on the curb. He checked her over, broken occasionally by his coughing fits. She'd remained well protected. She had a scratch on her arm, the one left exposed, but he judged it shallow and clean. Probably a shard of glass or metal had scraped her.

He felt fine, and wondered if he was, excepting his smoky lungs. His back felt hot, and he knew that his hand was bleeding. They'd been extraordinarily lucky.

When the ambulance arrived, all he could think about was the baby. He shoved Lindsay at the paramedics, babbling and pointing at her stomach. They responded quickly, pulling her into the bus with gusto and letting him hold her hand and wipe off some of the dark ash that clung to her face like streaky makeup.

"Wow," she gasped breathlessly.


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow, guys, thanks for the reviews! Do you think this story is done, or should I do more?_

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Lindsay thought the hospital was stupid. She'd always prided herself on her vocabulary, on her eloquence and her ability to know the perfect word to describe a situation. However, sitting in her hospital bed, six rooms away from Danny, forty feet from the nearest vending machine, and two inches from the heater, the only word that rolled through her head was 'stupid.'

She'd asked the nurse to remove the heater. Wasn't it obvious that heat was last on her list of favorites? The nurse had refused, citing the snow outside and Lindsay's past experiences with pneumonia.

"You'll get sick, honey," the nurse had said happily. Lindsay did not like Nurse Peter. Nurse Peter called her honey and tucked the covers too tightly around her waist. He was a tall man, with vacant purple eyes and bleached blond hair. And he told her nothing about Danny.

"Can you at least tell me if he's been checked in to the hospital?"

"As opposed to what, honey?"

"Well if he's been released, then I'll know he's fine."

"I just don't want you to worry."

"I _won't _worry if you _tell _me."

Nurse Peter laughed it off and walked to the bed to tuck the sheets again. His aftershave upset Lindsay's stomach, and she held in a grimace. She could stand it from a distance, but not close up.

_Propinquity, _Lindsay thought, _now there's a good word. Example: Nurse Peter's propinquity makes me sick due to his 'eau de wet dog' scent._

"Just tell me if he's awake yet," Lindsay sighed.

"Yeah, I'm up," Danny said from the doorway. His arms were crossed and a smirk was playing on his lips.

"Oh, I'm sorry sir, but you're really not allowed –"

"Shut it, Peter," Lindsay snapped. Nurse Peter turned abruptly to her, his eyes wide in surprise, and shuffled out of the room.

Danny's eyes brightened at the sight of Peter's retreating form, then hopped his way over to Lindsay's bed and gave her a kiss.

"You don't smell like smoke anymore," she said happily.

"I showered. Which is more than I can say for you; you smell like charcoal."

She swatted his arm and explained that she wasn't allowed to get up until the test results came back on the baby.

"Why, what – is – ah, something wrong?" She could see him covering the panic with pursed lips and squinted eyes.

"Yes, I'm sure everything is fine. Nobody seemed worried. What about you, are you alright?"

He shrugged, "Yeah, fine, just a couple of scratches and a little burn on my back. Nothing major."

"You did good," she said quietly, and rubbed his arm.

He leaned in and kissed her again, pleased with the way her stomach pressed to his.

"Did, um. Did the boy make it?" Lindsay asked hopefully. There was no way; she knew that. But she could ask, just in case.

Danny brushed her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ears. "I'm sorry, Linds. He didn't." She didn't say anything for a while, but slid her head under his arm. He crawled onto the bed and kissed her temple. "You OK?" he asked.

She sighed and shrugged.

The team came in to question them later. Flack took Danny into his room, while Mac questioned Lindsay in hers.

"Start at the beginning," Mac suggested.

"You know how it started. We were at the scene –"

"Why were you there? I asked you to stay in the lab since …" he gestured to her swollen abdomen.

"I know. Danny needed some evidence sent over to the lab, and Adam had stomach flu, so I went over there."

"What did you see when you got there?"

"The officer on duty was already on the floor. He was at the entrance of the building; his head was bleeding. That's when I guessed that something was wrong. I put him in his car and told him to call it in. Did he?"

"He passed out first. He called in later."

"Is he OK?"

"Yes, he'll be fine. He had a concussion."

"Then I went inside, looking for Danny. I _know, _I should've called him or something first, or waited, but I had to check on him. I was worried."

"That's alright. Keep going."

"I found him in one of the back rooms of the school, processing the break-in. He was fine; nobody was there. When I told him about Officer Thill, he got worried and suggested that we go outside. When we – when we were heading for the hallway, he was there."

"Who was?"

"This kid; he couldn't have been more than 15 or 16. He was dressed in black. He had dynamite cylinders strapped to his chest and an activator in his hand. He looked really surprised to see us; I think he thought he'd be alone. But he had Officer Thill's gun with him."

"Then what?"

"I – I didn't see much of it. I tripped and fell when he came in, and Danny stepped in front of me and started talking to the guy. He was really good with him; he asked what he was doing and why, and he kept his voice really calm. The kid's name was Jessie. From what he said, I think he was trying to … trying to …"

"Kill himself?" Mac asked gently.

"Yes. He was waving the gun around. Danny kept asking him to put it down, but he never did. He tried to make me leave, but I wouldn't. I couldn't. Then Jessie told us that he was activating the bomb in four minutes, whether we were there or not, and we just ran. The doors were locked; we couldn't figure out how to get out, so Danny covered me and we waited it out."

Mac thanked her, told her that she had to rest, and left her alone in the room. _T__o think about killing Jessie_.

What she hadn't told Mac, and what she knew Danny wouldn't tell Flack, was about Danny's gun. He'd been standing in front of her, his arms out to the sides, blocking her from Jessie. And then she'd felt it – Danny had been pressing himself into her, nudging her with his foot. She'd looked down to his waistline to find Danny's gun, shoved into the back of his pants. Her hands hadn't moved. Her face had remained still. Jessie hadn't guessed. She knew what Danny had wanted. Danny was hinting that she kill Jessie. The kid was small. The kid was young. He was awkward and hadn't grown into his body. She wouldn't be the one to take that away from him.

Still, Lindsay could see why Danny had wanted it. If the baby's life had been seriously threatened, if Officer Thill's gun had been nudging the protruding bulge of her stomach, then she would've wanted Jessie dead within seconds. For Danny it was more real, more pressing. He had been staring right at the boy, while Lindsay's had been obscured by the back of Danny's head and his broad shoulders.

Jessie hadn't wanted them to get hurt. He could hear the sirens coming. Lindsay wondered why they hadn't come two hours earlier. But Jessie knew that time was an issue, so he let them go. He screamed and shouted that they had four minutes, and they'd raced and pushed for the exit.

Lindsay was brought back to the present by Danny's footsteps down the hall. He hopped back into bed with her and grabbed the neglected chocolate pudding from her dinner tray.

She rolled over to face him, only to find him licking his plastic spoon clean.

"Are you mad?"

"'Bout what?"

"About me not killing Jessie."

"No, I get it. I probably wouldn'ta done it either."

She snuggled into his side.

"Danny?"

"Yeah."

"Would you turn the heater off?"

He chuckled. "Sure."


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: If anyone's wondering, I have nothing against nurses. I like them a lot, actually. I also have fun making people up, and they happen to come up often …_

_(I'll say it if I didn't already) I don't own the characters._

Lindsay's mind was awash with nightmares of Jessie. There was no one particular nightmare, rather a series of them. She would awake quickly and silently in the middle of each, steady herself with Danny's deep breathing, and hesitantly go back to sleep. They started the same, but ended differently. It all began with the room in the school, then onto Jessie speaking to Danny, then they would change. In one, Danny's face looked sadly at her through the fire. In another, Jessie's eyes burned so brightly at her that she burst into flames. In a third, the building shook, and she held Jessie tightly in her arms as he stared calmly into her eyes. She watched him die slowly.

It was during one where the three of them were all burning brightly in a mass of rubble that she screamed. It was a soft shriek, loud enough to cause Danny's body to contract and jolt upright, eyelids still half-closed.

"Wassapening," he mumbled, Lindsay held tightly to his chest.

"Nothing, go back to sleep," she hissed. It was her seventh time waking up that night. She was tired, she was pissed, and she knew she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep unless she had Danny's deep breathing to lull her.

Danny shook his head, and wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands. "I'm up, I'm up."

"Don't. Go back to sleep," Lindsay whimpered.

"'S wrong?" Danny asked, squeezing her tighter.

Nurse Peter appeared in the doorway, grinning ludicrously wide for a two-in-the-morning visit.

"Now, how many times have I told you," he said, waggling his finger, "one bed per person!"

"Suck it, Pete," Danny sighed.

Peter stood for a moment with his jaw ajar, finger still raised and pointed, then shook his head and wandered away.

Lindsay's face was buried in Danny's chest. Her body was quaking with laughter. Danny grinned. He didn't care if the nurse put laxatives in his IV pole to get back at him. So long as she was happy.

"Ya gonna tell me what yer screaming about?" He whispered as he kissed her ear.

She burrowed into him. "Just nightmares."

"Talk about 'em?"

"What you'd expect, I guess. The fire. The bomb. Jessie."

Danny ran his hand up and down her back, pushing up under her shirt to reach the heated skin. "He wanted to die. Wasn't anything we could do, 'sides survive."

She lay quietly next to him, and turned her head up to look at the ceiling. "I guess." Once his breathing had slowed, she whispered her deepest regret into the flesh of his throat, believing that he wouldn't hear it. "He was sixteen years old."

"I know, Lindsay. I'm so sorry." His voice was soft and muted by sleepiness, but its strength and comfort remained.

_So he's awake,_ she thought, and the fact comforted her more than the steady breathing.

"Danny?"

"Hmm."

"Could you stay awake until I go to sleep?"

"Sure. You have another nightmare and I'm asleep, you wake me, alright?"

She nodded. He smoothed her fingers, tracing them with one of her own – a stroking each line of her digit. The gentle tickling sent her into a different kind of sleep, a calmer one. The dreams were softer, and less real.

The test results for the baby were fine, as they'd expected. Lindsay was advised bed rest, or at least a more relaxing schedule for the next couple of weeks. Mac threatened her with lab work for the rest of her life unless she took three weeks off.

She spent her time lazing around the house, waiting for Danny to come home so she'd have something to keep her interested. He was usually tired and worn out. Mac had given him four days off. Lindsay had complained about Mac's blatant chivalry, but Mac told her he didn't care what she thought; he needed _somebody _working since Adam was still out with the flu.

When Danny was home, he wanted little more than sleep. Lindsay would rub lotion on the burn on his back, which was much bigger than he'd told her. It was a streak of red flesh that went from one side of his back to the other. Lindsay would kneel above him on the couch, hovering over his lower back, and check and dress the bandage. Unfortunately, the sight of Danny's bare back played upon her sexual desire, which only made Danny more tired in the morning when he woke at six to brush kisses to her forehead and race off to work.

The less energy Danny had, the more her stomach grew. She wondered if she was leeching his energy, consuming it in her bed rest, her changing moods, and heated encounters between the sheets of their bed. Finally, when he came home with his eyes already closed, she called Mac, and begged to be brought in.

She pulled a snow day on him, leaving him a note the next morning and some coffee in the microwave. She knew she'd made a mistake when, observing a fiber through a microscope, she heard rumors of 'the bomb kid's parents' in the lab. After some quick investigating, she knew the truth - Jessie's parents were indeed sitting quietly in Mac's office, holding hands tightly, staring Lindsay's boss in the eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

_OK, guys, I'm done! I think. If there's anything that didn't get cleared up, let me know (I'm rather forgetful) and I'll do a quick little chapter to clear it up. Thanks for reading, and thanks for whatever you've written back!_

* * *

"Did you …" Mrs. Ryan gulped loudly, "did he say anything about us?"

Lindsay knew she shouldn't lie. She knew that the truth always came out, no matter how imperfect the situation. Her fingers fluttered over her round stomach, and she knew that she had to.

"Yes, he did." She wished Danny were there. If Danny were there, he'd tell the truth. He'd have the strength to tell them that their son had felt completely alone, despite all attempts to convince him otherwise.

Mr. and Mrs. Ryan sagged in the couch. Their hands were gripped so tightly together that Lindsay could see whiteness accumulating on each of their knuckles. She could see a vein pulsing in the hand of Mr. Ryan, and a blotchy bruise beginning to form on Calista Ryan's middle finger.

"Did he seem at peace? Did he suffer?" Kevin Ryan asked.

"He died instantly," Lindsay said truthfully. She couldn't possibly begin to tell them of Jessie's screams and hoarse shouts as his eyes darted back and forth. He'd died conflicted, torn, and scared. And alone.

_Why the hell did I come in today? _she screamed in her head, _This is payback. This is karma for not being on bed rest like I should, and taking care of my child. I'm already a bad mother, and this is how I'm being punished. _

"What did he say about us?" Calista asked.

Lindsay felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to find Danny. She was immensely grateful for his presence, considering she was three seconds from breaking into tears, and she didn't deem it appropriate in front of two grieving parents.

Danny cleared his throat. "Hey, I'm Detective Messer. I was with Detective Monroe at the scene."

They nodded their hellos. Lindsay saw the jumble of joined hands shake slightly.

"He told us to tell you that he loved you, both of you," Danny lied.

"Stupid fuck," Mr. Ryan said thickly, breaking his wife's grasp.

"Kev-" Calista started.

"NO, Callie, we can't do this. The kid was always yammering for attention. He wanted us to pay for this. He wanted make us feel like he was some kinda saint. Well, I ain't buyin' it. The kid was a needy little wuss. He shoulda manned up and taken it!" Kevin took a few heavy breaths before motioning to his wife and slamming his way out the door.

Danny had pushed his way in front of Lindsay, and stood, his brow furrowed, in front of her chair with his hands up.

Calista looked jerkily around the room. She stood and threw them a sketchy smile. "They were never close."

"Yeah," Danny grunted.

She turned on her heel and scurried off after her husband. Danny turned to find Lindsay with tears pouring from her eyes.

"Sweetheart, what's –"

"I'm fine," she said shrilly, "It's just a hormones thing, really. I'm fine." He wrapped his arms around her and tugged her to him. She buried her head in his shoulder and sobbed openly.

"I know, babe. I know."

"I shouldn't have lied." She moaned into his shoulder, "They wouldn't have been mad if I'd told the truth."

"Hey." She lifted her head and looked at him. "Don't. I would have lied, too."

"Then why –"

"They're jerks."

And she took his logic. It wasn't the smartest, it wasn't entirely logical, but she accepted it for what it was. Besides, what kind of father calls his dead son a wuss?

Danny kissed the top of her head. He'd come to the lab prepared to yell at her for disregarding her bed rest, despite her well-meaning actions. When he'd found out that Jessie's parents were in Mac's office, he'd known where she'd be. He deeply regretted not informing her of the six domestic disturbance calls that had come from the Ryan residence in the past 16 years.

Once he filled her in about Mr. Ryan, she nodded and sniffed loudly. He helped her wipe her face.

"OK." She said, and he pulled her up.

"I'm gonna take you home, alright Montana? You should be resting."

"Fine. But we're getting ice cream first."

He laughed and twined his fingers with hers, strolling down the hall.

"I'm feeling …" she rubbed her stomach absentmindedly, "Chocolate chip cookie dough. With sprinkles. Do you think they'll have rainbow sprinkles? I hate those chocolate ones…"

"I'm sure they do."

"Good," she said cheerfully. She tucked Jessie into the back of her mind, folding the memory of his fire-centered rage for his life and placing it on a shelf. She missed him though she'd never met him. She knew Danny was taking it pretty hard, too. She'd seen the victims of his guilt – a broken plate, an extra beer bottle the night after they'd come home from the hospital, the little worry lines that had only just faded. But he was gone, and she knew she couldn't do much about it.

She licked her spoon pensively, catching the plastic in her teeth and sucking as she saw Jessie in his last moments, waving one hand at the exit door, the other clutching the activator for the bomb.

She blinked to clear her vision and caught Danny with his mouth open, staring at her spoon. He was practically drooling.

She giggled, waking him from his trance.

"Sorry," he muttered, and closed his mouth firmly.

"Do you think that if I wasn't pregnant, we wouldn't have run?"

"We woulda run."

"You don't know that."

"I know we woulda. The kid was gonna do it no matter what. 'Sides, we did run. That's all there is. We have the baby, and I have you, and that's it." He kissed her neck and pulled her closer on the vinyl booth.

She smiled. "I believe you."

"Ya better."

She took another spoonful of her ice cream, sliding it into her mouth. This time she was aware of his eyes. She sucked the spoon clean and half-closed her eyes.

"Mmm… it's _so-o-o _good, Danny," she breathed. She sucked the spoon for good measure.

It only took him a second to slide out of the booth, grabbing her hand and dragging her out with him.

"Where're we going?" She asked innocently.

"Bed." He grunted, throwing money on the table for the tip and jogging out of the ice cream parlor, Lindsay's hand grasped tightly in his.


End file.
